"Those silky flower stickers would look whimsical over vintage decoupage."
That above statement was an utterly naive thought process that took place in my brain the other day and subsequently almost became my most unforgettably embarrassing, epic 'mom fail' to date.
Before I move forward explaining my faux pas, it seems imperative that I disclose why I feel the intense significance in sharing it, since the tangible part of it never actually happened. Well, other than the pure entertainment it'll provoke due to the popularity of any type of 'fail' these days, I think it's also because it falls under being secretly relatable. Secretly, because most people wouldn't dare confess a screw up like this to the world, yet it still happens just the same; hence, the honest and uninhibited nature of this blog. Relatable, because it's the epitome of a typical day in a parent's life where we often talk to ourselves while doing the mundane; and thus, how our internal conversations sometimes have us shocked at our own thoughts, laughing out loud, and sometimes even feeling completely relieved that we were alone.
Even further, the 'almost fail's' significance didn't waver due to the fact that I was the only witness, and didn't even waver when, thank the Lord above, it ultimately never came to fruition. Just the simple blunder forming in my brain was significant enough for me to step out of the comfort zone of my 'mom-bubble', and understand the importance of sharing the ideology with others that there is comfort in numbers...that it will somehow resonate in the minds of parents of teens and help them learn to find new pathways around their recently- developed and ultra-sensitive parental gag reflex.
To allow for a clear visual, let me start with my youngest daughter's bookshelf. My 9-year-old has a 'Pottery Barny'-type bookshelf that I decoupaged a few years back with retro-ish images of children, flowers, and such; the epitome of classical innocence. Over the last few years, there were some spots where the deco had peeled off leaving, in their wake, a few unflattering patches of exposed wood. Hold that visual, and we'll fast forward to the moment in question...
I'm sorting dirty clothes into piles while sitting apple-pie-order on my laundry room floor, and I naively spot these peachy-colored, silky, flower-shaped stickers that were about three inches round; and strangely mixed in among the laundry (the fact of the stickers being mixed in with the laundry was the 'elephant in the room' that should have put up a big, fat red flag, yet then you wouldn't be reading this right now if it did). The stickers looked to have been previously used, as several of them were lightly stuck together; yet still in decent shape. I was attracted to their delicate, satin fabric and 'tea stained' color. It reminded me of the Victorian era. Hold that visual as well, and let's finally get to the 'meat' of (what was almost) the epitome of a classic, mom-fail.
Instead of recognizing the big 'red flag', a ridiculously-naive lightbulb switched on in that 'crafty' part of my otherwise-complacent, laundry-sorting brain. I immediately imagined my little girl's bookshelf and a way to, cleverly repurpose those random, satin 'stickers' as a way to cover those few 'bare spots', perfectly.
This was a completely healthy thought, right? Until, about five seconds later when it hit me what 'bare spots' those silky flower 'stickers' had previously covered! I froze, and my jaw immediately dropped as I felt a peculiar combination of embarrassment and lingering confusion. Until, 'thinking Dana' suddenly realized that 'Complacent Dana' was, ever-so-briefly, just planning to decorate her 9-year-old daughter's, children's bookshelf with her 19-year-old daughter's silky, flower-shaped, wait...for...it...Pasties! Yes. I (almost) did.
Roughly three-to-five seconds later, after the truth of the matter finished flowing into my brain like a download from the cloud updating a buggy app, one corner of my mouth began to turn upward.
Once the download was complete, and after consciously closing my jaw, I couldn't help but embrace that 'I'm a special kind of mom' truth and thus laugh aloud while still continuing to absent-mindedly peel the pasties apart; as if they could still be re-used, even if not for the bookshelf? I guess that could be formally identifed as a residual lack of reasoning due to the aftershock of my almost-epic-mom-fail PTSD. I digress. A few Psychology classes don't make me a shrink.
Once the download was complete, and after consciously closing my jaw, I couldn't help but embrace that 'I'm a special kind of mom' truth and thus laugh aloud while still continuing to absent-mindedly peel the pasties apart; as if they could still be re-used, even if not for the bookshelf? I guess that could be formally identifed as a residual lack of reasoning due to the aftershock of my almost-epic-mom-fail PTSD. I digress. A few Psychology classes don't make me a shrink.
Anyway, it didn't linger, because then my thoughts quickly switched into serious question mode. Why did my 19 year old daughter even own these (followed by some booby images that I forced my brain to rapidly extinguish)?
A few more ridiculous seconds went by as I sat there, on the floor, surrounded by stinky socks and dirty jeans, going through my mind-file of all the little backless halters I always hang in her closet. I had to admit to myself that she did have quite a few tops where a bra would have acceptably been insufficient.
So, here's how my brain was able to sort and file this sticky subject... I had to embrace that my daughter owning pasties does strangely support a few valid points 1.) daughters have boobs, even if we don't want them to 2.) just because my daughter likes to show her back she understands that doesn't mean her front gets a free pass 3.) they were flesh colored (not black or red with tassles). And, yes I did notice all the puns in this paragraph.
My final point being, I wasn't actually freaked out that there were pasties in the laundry; just at what I had almost mistaken and used them for. It could have been the fail among mom-fails when you have two daughters who are ten years apart, yet also probably a perfect example of how a parents brain can get complacent with every day, mundane rituals and forget that, in a big family, it isn't only laundry that needs to be separated and sorted out. Haha! The puns are borderline poetic.
Thanks☺️😘 for reading
